


Fire by the moon

by clicktrack_heart



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:56:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3179510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clicktrack_heart/pseuds/clicktrack_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know, he heard himself say to her, that moment when he looked at her sitting at the table next to him and all he could think was that she was so beautiful. It was like looking at a fire, his senses warmed and tingled and came alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire by the moon

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Caitlin and CoraRochester who read a very early version of this in APRIL! It took me that long to write this and still not be happy with it. I’ve been tinkering with it that long. But yeah. I think that means I should just post go ahead and post. :P

At the cross roads, Daryl stumbled. For just a second, he was all free fall then his legs were righting him once more to a painful sort of balance. He was covered in sweat, his eyes burning with it as he surveyed his path with a glare. All he felt was lost, no matter where his gaze fell. The truth was his instincts were skewed and thoughts of Beth were circling his mind like buzzards.  
  
Was she in pain? Was she alive? Safe? Hurt? Raped? Bitten?  
  
Almost all of the likely outcomes were heavy blows lashing against his skin, worse than all of the beatings he had ever had. There was no denying it, he was rattled. And if he wasn’t careful, it would kill him, no doubt. He was also tired, so exhausted he could barely see straight. Right now though, with Beth gone, he just didn’t care. The survivor in him told him he needed sleep, shelter. He ignored that voice as he trudged on. He lost track of time and everything around him blurred. Somehow he managed to force movement out of his tired feet.  
  
Time faded as the sun rose. Dazed, Daryl wondered if maybe he had fallen down, passed out or something miles ago, and the few staggering steps he forced one-by-one were a made-up fantasy. The past few days seemed like a strange dream now. A life that wasn’t his.  
  
 _I've never eaten frozen yogurt. I've never had a pet pony. I sure as hell never cut my wrists looking for attention!_  
  
The memory of his words, spoken only to hurt Beth, cut through him now, calling him back to the present.  
  
Daryl forced burning eyes down to the road below. He wasn’t sure but maybe the leaves beneath his boots looked unsettled, maybe recently disturbed. Or maybe he was just fucking crazy.  
  
Beth was just a girl, god damn it. A too pretty, too sweet, too good for him girl. No, he scowled to himself. She had grown more than he realized, more than any of them had. Beth was a woman. She had been through more and come through it stronger than he would’ve been able to at her age. He could only remember his 19-year-old self with embarrassment and loathing. That boy was a stranger to him now.  
  
But Beth hadn’t gotten bitter or angry or crazy as many would after losing so much. She had trusted him all this time even though he had ultimately lost her. But at that old still, she had smiled with wise and hopeful eyes and given him her acceptance, no matter the rough way he had treated her. Why? It wasn’t like he deserved it.  
  
The past few days he had with Beth after burning the still down had been the happiest days Daryl had in a long time. He should’ve known that he was a man with borrowed light, that it wouldn’t last. His happiness had come with a price, a punishment that had been dealt.  
  
He knew why too. Somewhere along the road, his thinking towards Beth had gotten screwed up, twisted. _What a sweet piece,_ Daryl heard his brother crow whenever he found himself looking at the long curves of Beth’s legs, or the pale skin of her lower back where her shirt had ridden up.  
  
Merle always licked his lips obscenely whenever he saw a good looking young girl. In the past, it had disgusted Daryl and now... Daryl realized he was no better when it came to Beth.  
  
 _You know,_ he heard himself say to her, that moment when he looked at her sitting at the table next to him and all he could think was that she was so beautiful. It was like looking at a fire, his senses warmed and tingled and came alive. Daryl realized Beth Greene was his tinder. In her was a fire that could warm him and destroy him all at once.  
  
He had told himself it was his sudden and forced proximity to Beth that was fucking with him, making him see Beth in ways a protector shouldn’t. He wasn’t like his brother. He didn’t like those young girls, he never had before. These unwanted thoughts he had would pass when they were with their group again. When he got Beth back. A darkness swept Daryl’s tired brain as forced one boot in front of the other, his gut clenching: If he got Beth back.  
  
The rising sun bore down on him. Legs aching, Daryl shuffled forward for what felt like hours, with only the image of Beth, the wild halo of blonde hair she had--that smile, the curves of her mouth widening easily as she laughed at something--propelling him forward. His surroundings blurred, barely seen. He became the walking dead.  
  
***  
  
After a while, there was a crunch of wood beneath his boot. It sounded off in the still of twilight like glass breaking. Startled, Daryl woke enough from his ambling to realize he was still heading somewhere. With relief he realized, time had passed, several more hours probably, but he had kept moving. There were other broken sticks that had fallen into the road beneath his boots, some branches looked crushed--as if by tires.  
  
These were telling signs for a tracker, good ones.  
  
Daryl licked his dry lips, chest constricting. A car had been over the road exactly where he was now, and not too long ago.  
  
It was just a little past nightfall when he saw where the car he had been tracking had turned right off the main road and curved into the woods.  
  
It was like the moon illuminated it.  
  
Daryl could do nothing but stare, anger flaring hot and then steadily rising as he realized someone had tried to hide the entrance of a car into the woods and they had done so in the past three hours.  
  
They had done a piss poor job of trying to hide their vehicle’s path though, must’ve rushed it. A few seconds later, Daryl found it-- the same dark car that had taken Beth. It was in front of him again, and this time parked, carelessly half hidden by vegetation.  
  
A shot of adrenaline warmed a blazing trail down his back, straightening his weary spine.  
  
He was stronger as he moved forward, closer to where Beth was. There was a small cabin in the distance, about a five-minute walk from the half-hidden car. Looking around at the ground, Daryl could see at least three unique footprints. One set of feet was smaller, and the print came from a pointed pair of shoes. Like boots. Just like Beth’s. But something was off with the prints--there were skids and stops he could see, clearly outlined in the dirt and scattered sticks.  
  
Beth had been dragged against her will.  
  
His jaw clenched.  
  
There was no light coming from the cabin that he could see, but he knew that was where he would find Beth.  
  
As quietly as he could go at a quick pace, Daryl advanced, listening for signs that his presence was noticed.  
  
No alarm came. No traps were spread out in front of him. He didn’t allow himself to think about what was distracting the men in the shack from keeping watch.  
  
When he was close enough, he peered through the dirty windows of the little shack. No one was inside but he could tell from the empty beer bottles littered about the messy kitchen--the cabin had had a few occupants very recently.   
  
Daryl paused as he looked around the small shack, forcing himself to calm down and breathe. As he exhaled, he saw it. A storm cellar door to the left of the house. His eyes widened, and he realized that whoever the house’s occupants were, if they thought they were being sneaky and trying to hide someone, that was where they would be. Down in the dark.  
  
A cold smile crossed his face. _Whoever you are, you’re fucking dead._  
  
He stood over the storm cellar. He wanted time to think this through, come up with a smart plan like Rick would’ve wanted, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of waiting to find Beth.  
  
Laughter sounded below, wafting up between the cracks between the wooden planks of the storm cellar door. Daryl’s mind was made up for him.   
  
He lifted the door gently with white knuckles, the creak of its hinge blending in with masculine laughter.  
  
Daryl’s blood froze when he stared down into the dark cellar. His eyes swept over the room, barely registering the worn mattress shoved into one corner, and the dozens of pill bottles littered all over the dirty floor.  
  
His eyes fell on Beth and stayed there. She was laying on the ground, blonde hair spilling over her face like a veil. The only color he could see on her was a nearly black trickle of blood, which trailed from the corner of her mouth and smeared across her chin. Daryl knew what caused that, he’d been hit like that before--someone had backhanded her. His fists squeezed tighter at his sides, the cut of his blunt nails drawing his own blood.  
  
Beth was wearing the same preppy, tattered golfer’s clothes he had last seen her in. He watched her still form, biting his tongue hard to stop from yelling for her.  
  
She was moving, but slowly. Each small movement seem to take extra effort, as if she was weighed down under a riptide. She was also surrounded by three men. They were his age, maybe older. Two of them men were laughing together, watching their bald friend who was kneeling in front of Beth.  
  
The bald guy was trying to force feed Beth something from a little vial, and she was fighting him, kicking and thrashing her legs. But Daryl saw that she wasn’t fighting at full force. It wasn’t a fair fight, not by a long shot. The bald guy flicked Beth’s hair away from her face, leering down at her as if she was his prey.  
  
Beth’s face was pale and sweaty, her eyes closed and mouth parted as if she wasn’t even aware of where she was. The bald guy whispered to her but when he tried to get closer, she kicked out wildly like a wounded deer. Daryl’s grip on his bow tightened. He barely felt himself draw back an arrow.  
  
“Damnit Chuck, how much product are we going to have to give this lil’ bitch?” The bald guy complained to one of the beefy men a few feet behind him. One of his hands was in his pants, the other was trying to reach for Beth.  
  
The dark haired man shrugged. “Imma bored of this too, fuck. Why don’t you just hit her again? I don’t feel like making another run to the drug store and I don’t trust you boys to not break her in before I get back.”  
  
Lip curling with disgust, Daryl released his fingers and his first arrow pierced the skull of the man closest to Beth with a wet thunk. The bald guy pitched forward, falling beside Beth. Daryl felt only a stab of regret that he couldn’t make him suffer.  
  
The dead bald man’s portly counterpart screamed and staggered backwards as his friend died. Pathetic, he thought. He let another arrow fly home through the man’s neck. It was a clean shot and Daryl knew that he would bleed out quick. The man’s hand was still in his pants as he sank to his knees, clutching at his throat with a bloody gasp.  
  
 _Easy pickins._ Daryl reloaded his bow for the last man in a hurry, not wanting the sick fucker to have a chance to hurt Beth.  
  
This last one was a little smarter than his friends, and he had recovered from the first seconds of Daryl’s rampage to reach for Beth. It was the same time Daryl pulled his elbow back tight on the string of his bow. The man’s fingers grazed Beth’s side but Daryl’s arrow was faster. He had already released it, eyes narrowed as he watched it become a killing shot, striking the man in his back.  
  
The man jerked as the arrow punctured his lungs, turning his head slightly to gape up at Daryl.  
  
Daryl was already jumping into the cellar, prepared to kill anyone else who might come out of the shadows. Limb from limb, he would tear them up. He was beyond giving a fuck about what anyone else who do in his shoes.  
  
Collapsing to his knees, the last man Daryl shot touched the sharp point of the arrow, protruding from his flannel shirt. Daryl watched pitilessly as the man crumpled onto the cold floor, his worthless life bleeding out in shudders and spasms.  
  
He had killed three men, but Daryl still felt his fury licking at him like a fire. He lowered his bow as he tried to bring himself under control, he had to do it for Beth.  
  
Anger wouldn’t help her.  
  
Beth lay still on the concrete floor of the cellar, she had not reacted to the slaughter of the men. She wasn’t moving at all, save for the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her slender fingers were twitching at her sides as if she was dreaming.  
  
He folded down to his knees when he was close enough to touch her, then realized he was at a loss for what to do next. He stared at his bloody hand, unconsciously already starting to reach for the young woman he had been with for the past few days.  
  
What if those men had raped Beth? Daryl didn’t think they had--based on their conversation and Beth’s intact clothing. But Daryl didn’t know for sure. How could he? If only Carol or Maggie was here, or one of the other women...  
  
Fuck it. He was all Beth had and he would do right by her. He had to.  
  
She was still on her side, knees drawing up as if for protection. She looked so small, and violent anger pulsed through Daryl again, that anyone would hurt her.  
  
Daryl reached for her hand, wincing when he felt how cold and clammy the soft skin was. Up close, he could see the beginning of a long purple bruise beginning to swell the curve of her check. Daryl grimaced, and with his free fingers, he brushed long blonde strands of hair from her face. He was taken by complete surprise, when, with a low moan, Beth came alive. She kicked at him furiously and wildly.  
  
He shifted before her foot smacked his shin, staring at her in shock.   
  
“Beth? It’s me, Daryl! Wake up, girl!”  
  
Blue eyes opened to tiny slits at his voice, eyelashes fluttering. “Daryl?”  
  
He could barely hear her but leaned closer when her legs stilled.  
  
“Yeah, it’s me,” he breathed, “I got ya now.” He tugged her arms as gently as he could to pull her into his chest. For a moment she was still and stiff and his heart was racing--slowing only when Beth took a few shaking, sobbing breaths.  
  
He could feel the fight go out of her as she slumped against him. Absentmindedly, he stroked the back of her head. “I’ve got ya. Those men who hurt ya are gone.”  
  
“Take me home, Daryl,” she whimpered against his chest. Her mouth was touching the base of his neck but her voice sounded miles away. “Please,” he heard her murmur.  
  
Swallowing thickly, he watched her eyes flutter shut again.  
  
Home? The Greene farm? The prison? What did Beth want from him? He didn’t know where to take her.  
  
They had no home. They could only pretend that four walls could make one.  
  
***  
  
And, two hours later, he had tried his best to find a safe place, he thought maybe he had for once done something right.  
  
Daryl didn’t know how he did it, but he had carried Beth all that time. Stopping only once to lay Beth down in dew-wet grass while he sagged against a tree for a spell.  
  
He was still bone tired, barely able to hold himself up. The house he found was another farm-- similar to the Greenes’. But this one had been looted. And badly.  
  
The living room and kitchen were in total disarray. Furniture and homemade lacy curtains ripped, books and framed photographs of a smiling brown-haired family in matching tees thrown to the floor. A black piano had also been smashed. Daryl was surprised by the sudden sadness that gripped him: Beth wouldn’t be able to play for him here, even if she wanted to.  
  
The rooms upstairs were better and didn’t have any dead bodies in them, Daryl checked twice. Most of the sheets on the beds were musty and dusty but clean. The owners of the house had left quickly. Though there was evidence that others had come after the family, Daryl thought that whoever they were they had left quickly.  
  
Daryl laid Beth on the best bed he could find in the house, the one in the guest bedroom. She hadn’t woken at all since he told her he was going to take care of her, hours ago in the shack in the woods.  
  
He took a quick moment to survey her, watched the steady rise and fall of her chest. She didn’t seem as pale as she had been when he first found her. He stared at her peaceful expression for a beat--feeling as if a large weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had found Beth. Beth was alive. And that meant things could only get better.  
  
Maybe they’d find another piano.  
  
A calm feeling came over Daryl, a rare and light smile creasing his features in an unfamiliar way.  
  
Sliding slowly to the ground, Daryl finally let the dark take him, his tired body coming to rest against the bed where Beth slept.  
  
***  
  
  
Daryl dreamed-- there was a warm fire licking his belly but it didn’t hurt at all. A pale and beautiful light was shining on him. He thought of Beth. Her voice, her songs, always drawing him in, even if it was against his will.  
  
The flames he felt were like little fingers, dancing on his skin. It felt so good. The fire left soft touches on his wrists, fingers sliding slowly, sensuously up his inner arms. His body relaxed into the flames, and he thought of Beth at the still, the way they looked at each other as the place had burned.  
  
A girlish giggle woke him. Immediately, Daryl tried to sit up but something pulled him back.  
  
“Tha fuck...” he bit out. He couldn’t move his arms. They were fastened by his wrists to something wooden--bed posts.  
  
He tried to shift in the bed but quickly realized his ankles also were immovable, tied and spread to bed posts as well. Daryl thrashed violently against his bonds, stopping when he realized that not only was he tied up, but he had been stripped naked.  
  
He heard the soft giggle again. The silky sound made the little hairs at the back of his neck stand straight up.  
  
“What the hell?” he breathed, looking around the room for the source. His eyes were still adjusting to the darkness of the room, when a warm weight settled on top of him. The familiarity of the slender shape was the only thing that kept him from going ballistic.  
  
“Beth?!”  
  
“Mmmhhmm,” she answered. Her voice sounded like a kitten’s purr. She dragged one slim finger down his bare chest. “Good guess,” she told him cheerfully.   
  
He barely processed her words. Some of his vision had returned. Now his eyes were painfully wide, drinking in the sight of Beth above him.  
  
Even in the dark, Daryl could see the color in Beth’s face had returned, her skin was pink and rosy, save for the dark bruise that marred the delicate wing of one cheekbone.  
  
Alarmingly, her pupils were almost completely black and Daryl knew that meant she was still high. Like Merle would be on any day that ended with a ‘y.’  
  
As stoned as she was though, Beth had somehow gotten the upper hand on him. He felt strangely out of place and time, disoriented as if he had been the one who has doped. Beth, Hershel Greene’s youngest, was straddling him, knees pressing into his ribs with the softest pressure. If this was a dream, it felt real. His heart was racing.  
  
Beth smiled down at him, a strangely devious tilt to her mouth--he had never seen an expression like that on her face before. Her blonde hair tumbled in knotted waves down her shoulders. All he could do was stare up at her, struck helpless by how beautiful she was, just as he had been at the funeral home... yesterday? The day before? Fuck.  
  
“Beth... what happened? Are ya feelin’ OK?” he asked finally.  
  
“I’m feeling much better,” she told him, “but I’m so hot,” she complained with a big sigh that made her chest rise and fall.  
  
The simple movement made Daryl’s eyes drop from Beth’s face. It took him a second to register what he saw.  
  
He jerked against his bonds in surprise, mouth gaping.  
  
Beth’s bare breasts were on display right in front of him--small and pert with hardened pink nipples. Blood surged south, painfully fast to his cock.  
  
It was fucked up of him but he couldn’t stop-- greedily his eyes drank her in from top to bottom. Beth’s eyes were luminous on his and she sucked in a breath at his response.  
  
He looked at her lithe, little body for one dizzying moment, as if it would last him a lifetime. Only the sight of Beth’s skimpy, threadbare panties snapped him out of it. Guilt and shame seeped in with reality then. Beth was not supposed to be sitting on him naked like that, no way. And he shouldn’t be hard enough to break her in two.  
  
Didn’t matter how good Beth looked, how much he wanted to forget age, forget rules, forget honor, forget Hershel, forget fucking everything.  
  
“No,” he growled.  
  
Daryl tried to buck her off his hips, but the ropes she had knotted around his limbs--girl scout style no doubt-- left him with little room to struggle. In a different situation, he would’ve been proud of Beth’s surprising skill with knots. But now it just made his patience unravel.  
  
“Are ya fucking crazy? What are ya doing?” he yelled. “Untie me! Put yer goddamn clothes on!”  
  
He thrashed against the ropes again violently, nearly succeeding in throwing Beth off of him. Then her thighs merely squeezed him harder, surprising him, and he remembered her stubborn horse Nelly.  
  
Shit. Another way. There had to be another way.  
  
The knots that held him down could be budged with enough time and focus. He started to work his stiff fingers on them, stopping when he realized Beth’s eyes had gotten big from his outburst, glittering with tears.  
  
“You don’t...like it?” Beth asked softly, delicate shoulders sagging.  
  
Daryl sucked in a quick breath, trying not to moan from her little shivers above him.  
  
“Beth, this ain’t a game. Yer drugged and I ain’t yer boyfriend! Ya can’t just tie me up and...” he stopped. Words for what she possibly planned to do came to him... fucking, rutting, screwing... but he couldn’t bring himself to say it plainly, not to Beth.  
  
“But I can!” she challenged, as if she read his mind. With the back of her hands, she wiped her tears away, fixing her dilated pupils into a withering glare.  
  
“I’m not a baby,” she told him, her words slurring enough to make him wince. “I’m tired of you treatin’ me like one. Everyone else sees me like a woman, even those men who grabbed me!”  
  
“I’ll show you,” she continued defiantly, flipping blonde waves angrily back from her shoulder.  
  
She lifted up off him and he felt a small pang of disappointment which was quickly covered with relief. That feeling was crushed fast.  
  
Beth was just shimmying out of her panties. That was why she had gotten up. Her unintentional strip tease revealed the little knobs of her hips, and a small thatch of tawny colored hair between her thighs. His mouth went dry.  
  
And then Beth was back on top of him before her warmth had even begun to fade from his skin.  
  
“Beth, stop,” he managed. In the quiet stillness of the room, his voice sounded unfamiliar, choked and strained.  
  
She made a point of ignoring him, pressing herself down onto his belly, and he could feel that she was wet. Both his hands and dick jerked in response.  
  
“See?” she sighed with a little smile. “Not a little girl, Daryl.”  
  
Beth leaned forward, pressing her lips against his mouth. The tip of her tongue parted his lips and Daryl didn’t stop it. Her hot mouth sealed against his, leaving no space for air. And he didn’t stop it. Didn’t stop it when her tongue stroked his, when he could finally taste her.

He was so hungry for her taste.  
  
He was kissing her back as if he could could swallow up her sweetness. He was struggling against the ropes to be closer to her. In response, her tongue caressed his in a teasing, messy promise. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth and bit the plump flesh. She gave a little gasp of pleasure, rubbing against him and not minding in the least the scrape of his stubble on her soft cheeks. _No._  
  
“No,” he repeated in a loud gasp, half growling as he pulled away.  
  
Beth pouted down at him, then leaned forward again, playfully tonguing the stiff corner of his mouth. The stab of desire he felt was a knife twisting into him.  
  
Her eyes caught his and held them. He couldn’t look away.  
  
“Daryl, I want to know what it’s like.”  
  
Her lips moved across his jaw, her breath warm and tickling against his ear.  
  
“What what’s like?” he asked gruffly, unable to stop himself.  
  
“Sex,” she replied lightly, then giggled when she saw his stunned expression. “You know, making love! I want you...” she licked his lower lip, “to be inside of me.”  
  
Daryl’s head shook violently, trying to rid himself of her words and the feel of her body at the same time.  
  
“I’ve thought about it a whole lot,” she continued sweetly. “Since I saw you at my family’s farm. I wanted to do _it_ with you.”  
  
“Yer high! Ain’t gonna happen little girl, no fucken way!”  
  
“Really?” Beth smirked pointedly, eying his erection with curious eyes. Daryl felt his face redden and he wrenched his hands again, seeing if the knots had loosened. They hadn’t.  
  
“I don’t know a whole lot about tha birds and tha bees, but I do know a little,” she teased. “And growing up on a farm taught me a lot about knots.”  
  
Calmly, Beth rose up on her knees, one of her small hands wrapping around his dick.  
  
“I had to practice over and over,” she said in a singsong voice.  
  
The sensation of her cool fingers on his aching shaft made his spine bow off the bed and he couldn’t remember anything about undoing any knots anymore.  
  
It had been so long since anyone had touched him, and never anyone as beautiful as Beth.  
  
“See, that’s not so bad is it, Daryl?” she murmured. He didn’t respond, he didn’t know how to.  
  
Beth started to touch herself with her other hand and Daryl watched, licking at his lips. Her fingers dancing over her little clit only lasted a few seconds as she seemed to think of something else. She sat back closer to her heels and the hand wrapped snugly around his cock guided him to her pussy.  
  
He shuddered in spite of himself, biceps and shoulders strained against his confines as Beth rubbed against him. She felt like velvet. He watched his straining cock press against her, seeking what she wanted to give him despite how wrong and fucked up this whole thing was. “You’ve been drugged, Beth. Stop it.”  
  
It was like she didn’t even hear him.  
  
The bed creaked stubbornly as he pulled against the ropes again.  “No, no, no,” he breathed but she ignored him, lining herself up only to slowly lower down onto his cock head and then down even further.  
  
Twin sensations of wet and tight wrapped around his shaft, squeezing him as she worked herself down inch by inch. He bit into his lip so hard he drew blood.  
  
Then Beth whimpered and his eyes flew open.  
  
“This hurts,” she huffed in bewilderment.  
  
“Stop then,” he growled. Her pussy was clamping down on him like a vice and he bit back a moan, tasting tangy and coppery blood all over again.  
  
“No,” Beth gasped, blue eyes sparking, and then forced her body fully onto his, so she was fully seated on his hips.  
  
Daryl barely had time to grit his teeth. Then Beth gingerly rose up on her knees and then tilted his world on its axis by easing down again on his cock. He lost count of how many times she did that same simple move, over and over, deliberately and slowly.  
  
His head fell back to the mattress, hands spasming against the ropes. Beth’s hand was on her clit and if her clenching was any indication, she wasn’t going to last long. Though he couldn’t touch her, he could feel and hear how wet she was as she rode his dick. His hands were tied but it was still sensory overload.  
  
He wanted his hands free, gripping the small of her back. The compulsion was so strong, so natural and he hated it.  
  
Beth moaned loudly as Daryl’s hips jerked unintentionally. “That’s so good Daryl,” she encouraged sweetly.  
  
He shuddered again, struggling not to do anything at all, trying to remember that she was drugged. Beth made his mind up for him, rocking faster and biting her lip.  
  
“So good,” she moaned lightly, eyes closed. Then her lashes fluttered open, bright eyes on his. “God, Daryl,” she gasped, hips pushing up and down in a stunted rhythm.  
  
With Beth’s tight inner ring of muscles squeezing him, Daryl felt himself splinter, his last shred of control ripped from its hinges. He couldn’t stop it, his hips pushed up until he bottomed out. He moved roughly against his restraints as much as he could so he could feel all of her. The restraints burned his skin but it was Beth’s little gasp that sent him spiraling over the edge.  
  
He felt himself cum hard and deep, unable to pull himself out. Unable to even try or offer.  
  
Beth rode out his orgasm with a proud smile, hazy eyes drinking him in as he was left breathless. As his shudders faded, he felt his heart sink.  
  
It was all too much. Too wrong, too bad. Beth didn’t deserve a dirty redneck, pawing at her, being inside of her.  
  
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard a rational voice that sounded like Rick’s, telling him there was nothing he could’ve done.  The voice was shoved away forcefully. _No, lies. His fault. His fault._  
  
Beth laid down against him, pressing the small shell of her ear against his chest.  
  
The warmth of her suddenly seemed suffocating and what he had done with her, it was unbearable. He wanted to hide from her, crawl himself into a hole somewhere outside, but he couldn’t move. His legs and arms were numb.  
  
“Untie me, Beth, please,” he managed to squeeze out, as his chest seized up. Panic was clawing at him, tightening around his limbs.  
  
Beth looked up at him, concern registering on her face. “Daryl?” she murmured, “Okay, alright,” she said in low murmurs.  
  
His heart was racing as she reached up, fingers working at the knots. It felt like hours to free him. He almost cried with relief. As soon as he was free, he sprang to action, moving up so quick he jostled Beth. She gave a small noise of surprise but he didn’t look.  
  
He had to get away, that was all he could think.  
  
Quickly, he was grabbing at the dirty clothes on the floor that Beth had somehow taken off of him during the night. Hastily, he pulled up his old boxers then shoved his torn jeans up each of his legs.  
  
As he leaned forward for his boots, a warm weight grabbed him from behind. Two moon-colored arms wrapped around his waist. His shoulders went up defensively, the only weapons he could use.  
  
“I can’t Beth,” He said. She was still naked. He sagged into her body helplessly. She said nothing then but her grip on him tightened, her small bones pressing into his.  
  
“I can’t. Please,” he whispered.    
  
“Don’t,” Beth whimpered softly, wrapping herself even more tightly against him. “Don’t go. You can’t leave me alone again.”  
  
He closed his eyes.  
  
“No, I can’t.”  
  
He shuddered in her arms, again as he held it all back, his cries, the anger, the dark. He swallowed it down, replaced her silvery bonds with barbed metal.  
  
He couldn’t leave her, not even when she would hate him tomorrow for what he had done. Not even now, when he hated himself for it. If she asked, he would build himself a funeral pyre out of his own hatred. He would build it and burn.


End file.
